Airport Shenannigans
by Proud Olympian
Summary: Four countries in an airport: France has been detained by security, England is attempting to get him released so they don't miss their flight, Canada is tired, and America... well, America is very bored.


They weren't quite sure whose idea it was for the four of them to travel on a plane together. All the North American nations knew was that France was being held somewhere in the building by security for harassment, England was trying to bargain with the guards to let him out, and the two siblings were stuck waiting in an airport terminal for the better part of the foreseeable future while their flight was delayed due to storms. At this rate, they were going to arrive the morning _of _the world meeting, leaving them just barely enough time to get to the embassy.

"Not cool, bro," America groaned, stretching out and nearly punching Canada in the head. "Why couldn't we have just taken a jet, like one of ours? I'm sure the boss man would have lent us one, and then we'd be there on time! Seriously! Why couldn't we have-"

"Alfred," Canada cut in softly. He wanted to play with Kumajiji's fur, since it was something of a habit he had now, but the bear had to ride in a small crate on a separate plane. Poor Kumachachi, Canada could understand why he hated flying. "Al, nobody really predicted the storm. It just kind of... happened. Besides, I'm sure it won't be long until we get there! You can always sleep on the plane, and Ludwig won't mind if we're late since the problems were out of our control."

They had to talk in human names, for the most part, and avoid complaining too loudly about their respective governments to preserve national secrecy. National Personifications, or NPs, as they were commonly referred to in their files, were to be protected and kept secret at _all costs._

Personally, the nations were all rather amused by the whole thing. Silly humans, they'd been taking care of themselves for years, they would do just fine without all this security nonsense.

"But _dude_," America whined, sounding remarkably like a child and nothing like the nation who had lived for over two centuries. "Mattie, I'm _bored_!"

Canada, sometimes known as Matthew Williams, glared, then ran his fingers through his hair and looked around.

"Spot the Citizen?" he suggested after a moment.

America raised an eyebrow. "We aren't kids anymore, bro."

When they were little, and Papa France and Big Brother England (as they were called by their respective colonies) would let them play together, they would go running through the city, chasing each other and playing, and more often than not they would find themselves by the docks. America's childhood home had been on the coast, and France hated traveling by carriage any more than he had to, so Canada hadn't lived very far from the coming and departing ships either.

They would find themselves a place out of the way, be it on a stack of crates or on the edge of an empty dock, or one memorable occasion, on one of the boats themselves. And then, giggling to each other and staring at the world with innocent eyes, they would point out people and guess what country they came from.

* * *

_America giggled, kicking his legs and scuffing his tiny buckled shoes against the wooden crates they were on. Canada didn't seem to have much regard for the fancy clothes that France always wanted to dress him up in, and ignored the fact that the crates they were on were also full of dead fish waiting to be carted to the market._

"_Where's that one from, Mattie?" He pointed at a grizzled old sailor with a tiny sailing boat._

"_Um..." The younger nation screwed his face up in concentration. "I think that's one of Papa France's. Yes, see, he's speaking French!" The sailor was now arguing with someone. "How about that one, Al?"_

"_American," he said after a mere instant's thought. "Definitely."_

"_But you said your big brother owns the land. So wouldn't he be British?"_

_America giggled again. "Silly brother! **We're **the land here, and these are our citizens! Like that one, that one there. He's not American, but I don't think he's French or British either. Come on, can't you see, can't you see?"_

_Canada frowned, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, he's... Canadian. American and Canadian! That's us!"_

* * *

"Of course," Matthew said reasonably while his brother continued to look at him. "I'm a mere one hundred and forty six years of age, while someone as respectable as yourself is turning two hundred and thirty seven. _Hardly _children anymore, especially when compared such _ancient _members of society such as our guardians."

America snickered. "Seriously though, dude. We haven't done that since we were little."

Canada shrugged. "You did say you were bored, and we're in an airport. Lots more variety than at a dock in the, ah..." He paused for a moment, floundering, not quite sure what to say, since he couldn't say they sat on docks in the sixteen and seventeen hundreds without attracting attention. "...old days."

"Fine." America stretched again, blue eyes scanning the crowds bustling around them, and pointed to a mother trying to keep her children contained while they waited in line at one of the many small restaurants lining the massive airport. "Them."

Canada tilted his head to one side. "Returning to America," he decided after a pause. "But their flight is going from here to Canada, and then from Canada to America. They're thinking about it a lot."

America nodded, agreeing. Nations could tell when people were extensively thinking about the country they represented, and due to the fact that these two nations bordered each other so closely, they could point out each other's citizens on occasion as well.

"American." America nodded in the directly of a portly man with a suit. "Also American." He nodded in the opposite direction, towards a young Hispanic woman holding hands with her boyfriend. "Her date's not, but eh. Promote international unity or something."

Canada rolled his eyes. "Let's see... Canadian." He scanned another row of customers in line at a tiny Starbucks booth. "Canadian... Canadian... and the cashier is Canadian too."

"American," America countered with a frown.

"Canadian!" Canada glared.

They both turned to focus on the cashier, eyes narrowing.

"Dual citizenship," they both announced at the same time, then looked at each other sharply. "I said it first! No, _I_ did!"

"Are you two arguing already?" A dry British voice asked tiredly. The two nations turned to see England dragging France over by the sleeve. The Frenchman was ungracefully shoved into a chair, and England glared. "Don't move, frog. I'm not dragging you out of security again. Do you know how _embarrassing _it is to have to call your government over this?!"

"We weren't arguing," Canada cut in before the other two could begin an argument of their own. "We were playing Spot the Citizen."

They received two blank looks.

"It's what we did when we were little," America explained. "And also bored. Let me tell you, Iggy, I'm _bored_."

"Don't call me that," England muttered with a glare.

"So you try and figure out who is from what country, _non_?" France asked thoughtfully. "Hmm. How about... them!"

He pointed towards a duo wandering through, dragging their suitcases behind them and talking animatedly. They were both blond, men – teenagers, really, just children to the nations – although the taller one had a darker shade of hair and he also wore glasses. He was talking animatedly to the shorter one, who was glaring right back.

"I would say the loud one is America's citizen," France said wisely. "And the other one... _Angleterre, _it must be! He acts so much like you."

England didn't look like he was paying attention, but America looked like he was trying not to laugh. "No, no... Nope, I think you've got that backwards."

Canada squinted at the two, trying to hear them talking; though _he _could tell which one belonged to him, England and France needed a reason that wasn't innate knowledge. "Y... yeah. Yeah, you're right! Listen, you can hear the tall one. He's got an accent."

"I'm trying to tell you!" the taller one said, waving his arms around animatedly, with a clear accent placing him from somewhere in Great Britain. "You're just not listening!"

"I don't have _time _for your inane ideas," the shorter one muttered in a distinct American drawl. "Are you going to sleep on the plane? I'd like time to read without you interrupting."

France looked like the conversation might have broken him. America shrugged and settled back down. "Hey, I'm only loud and obnoxious because I choose to be. I am entirely capable of being a mature and responsible adult!" He then pulled a burger from his jacket and ate half of it in one bite.

England sighed. "So tell me, how's deporting that singer of yours going?"

The other nation looked confused. "Singer?"

"Yeah, what's his name? Beaver?"

America choked on his hamburger, and Canada pounded him on the back several times, looking slightly embarrassed. "That one's not American either," the quiet nation murmured. "He's... ah... he..."

"Canadian," America choked out once he could breathe again. "Don't associate me with that _child_."

France and England both stared at him.

"_M-mon ami..._" France looked at him in concern. "_You _produced such a citizen?"

"We don't talk about it!"


End file.
